


In a Shady Bower

by fimbrethiel



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Foursome - M/M/M/M, M/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romance, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-24 22:34:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2599004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fimbrethiel/pseuds/fimbrethiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary:  In the end, what do we really have left but love?  The Lórien brothers make their lord an offer he is powerless to refuse.</p><p>*~*~*~*~*</p><p>"Then Aragorn took leave of Celeborn and Galadriel; and the Lady said to him: ‘Elfstone, through darkness you have come to your hope, and have now all your desire.  Use well the days!’</p><p>‘But Celeborn said:  ‘Kinsman, farewell!  May your doom be other than mine, and your treasure remain with you to the end!’”</p><p>           ‘Many Partings’, The Return of the King</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Don’t own the Elves, they are owned by Tolkien’s estate. Master Tolkien, I mean no harm. No profit has been made.  
> Beta: Nuwing. *massive hugs* Any remaining errors are mine.
> 
> Original date of completion: April 2, 2006
> 
> I’ve always wondered about the subtext underlying Celeborn’s words to Aragorn in the final chapters of The Return of the King. This short story is the result of an overactive imagination.
> 
> For Denise (sian265)'s birthday, either seven-months-belated, or five-months-early. She wanted the Lórien trio and lots of smut based on a photo manip by The Theban Band. She got it. :)

*~*~*~*~*

  **Lothlórien, Middle-earth, Year 1 of the Fourth Age**

“There he is, just about to round the bend in the path,” Haldir whispered to his siblings, who were seated just above him in the branches of the giant  _mallorn_.  “Are you both ready?  He may resist; use only the force necessary to ensure his compliance, but whatever you do, make sure he is not injured.”

 Orophin shook his head uneasily, the slight quaver in his voice confirming his uncertainty about what he and his brothers were proposing to do.  “And I will repeat for the hundredth time:  you both realize that if he takes offense, we could be banished from the Wood and all this planning will be for naught?”

Rúmil, perched in the crotch of a deeply veed branch and slightly behind and above Orophin, reached down and clasped his younger brother’s shoulder in a reassuring grip.  “It will be well, Oro.  Trust us, all right?”

 Haldir peered down through the verdant canopy of greens and yellows and quickly silenced them.  “Hush, here he comes!”

 Lord Celeborn’s route was predictable; the only variation was his mood.  On some days his steps were light and he sang as he walked, but as the weeks and months since the Lady’s sailing passed his gray eyes were more often downcast and his step heavy.  Today was one such day.

 As he drew nearer to their hiding place, Haldir dropped easily from his branch and landed with barely a thump in the middle of the path.  He stood still as stone, waiting for the lord’s approach.

 Celeborn was lost deep in thought and did not notice Haldir’s presence until he had come nearly nose-to-nose with the Captain of the Wood.  With a start, he looked up and realized that he was no longer alone.

 “Haldir.  Where did you come from?”

 The Captain clenched his fist over his heart and bowed his head deferentially.  “Good day, my lord.”

 Haldir’s manifestation out of thin air caused Celeborn to look around circumspectly as he realized the Marchwarden was unarmed.  “Good day, Captain… er, if I am not mistaken, was it not your turn for patrol this week?”

 “My second took this rotation,” Haldir replied with a glib shrug of his shoulders.

 To Celeborn’s further disquiet, the Captain blew a piercing whistle between two fingers and, from the branches above, two Elves dropped to the ground beside him.  Rúmil and Orophin, without a glance at their brother, started toward the Silver Lord, each holding a long strip of cloth in his hands.

 Celeborn warily took a step back, looking in apprehension from one brother to the next.  He was a large and strong Elf, easily able to defend himself, but he had been caught unawares, lost deep in memories.  Before he fully realized what was happening, Rúmil was standing behind him, binding his wrists together.

“What do you think you are doing?” Celeborn demanded, as a strip of fabric was slipped over his eyes and bound securely, not tightly, but snugly enough that there was no chance of the blinder slipping off.

“You have known us since we were big enough to wield sword and bow, Celeborn; you know that we will do you no harm.  Now step carefully and trust us to lead you well.”

Celeborn recognized the smooth timbre of Orophin’s voice speaking quietly into his left ear and felt the touch of a hand against the small of his back, gently urged him forward, while another hand tucked into the crook of his elbow guiding him along.

There was little choice but to follow where he was led.  Haldir’s long, sure strides led the way while large, warm hands grasped his biceps, Rúmil on one side and Orophin behind – the siblings had served their lord for years enough that he could discern the patterns of their strides – vigilantly leading him over rocks and tree roots that traversed the narrow path.  Deprived of sight, Celeborn’s remaining senses kept him from stumbling, though his escorts’ firm grips steadied him.  The path narrowed until at points, they were forced to walk almost single-file.

“Almost there.”  Haldir’s voice floated back to him from somewhere ahead, and a few short moments later, the group came to a halt.  Celeborn could smell the change in the air; it was rich and fragrant with pine and spruce, and warmer than the breeze that rustled through the  _mellryn_  high above.  From somewhere beyond, a brook or stream burbled gently.  The ground was soft and springy underfoot.  Obviously, from the close feel of the air and the muffled sound of water, they had left the path and were now in a shelter of some sort.

Until this moment, Celeborn would have been willing to assert that he knew every square inch of his beloved forest, but even deprived of sight, he knew this was one spot that had escaped his notice.  He had no idea where his captors had brought him, though he was certain they were still within the boundaries of the Wood.  What he felt was not fear for his safety, exactly; Celeborn knew the brothers to be upstanding and highly principled Elves, but it was not every day that one was bound at the wrists, blindfolded, and led deep into the woods by three of his own wardens.  Abduction had been, literally, one of the furthest things from Celeborn’s mind during his daily hike.  He was curious more so than worried, and, he admitted to himself, intrigued.

 ”I will remove the blindfold now, but for the moment will leave your hands bound.”

 Haldir’s voice sounded from behind him, deftly working the knot at the back of his head free.  “You could still escape easily enough, but the thought of returning to the city with your hands tied behind your back and being forced to explain how you were waylaid by your own guardians should be enough of a deterrent to keep you here at least until you hear us out.  And then, we shall see what we shall see.”

 Celeborn blinked a few times when the strip of cloth was removed from his eyes.  Golden sunlight filtered down through the  _mellryn_  standing overhead, yet surrounding them was a small copse of evergreens, their heavy branches drooping to form a bower of sorts, filtering sun, wind, and sound into a cozy sanctuary.  Under his feet, the forest floor was littered with spongy pine needles scattered with  _mallorn_  leaves, over which a few blankets had been spread.  Curiously, near the ‘wall’, if it could properly be called such, there was a leather satchel laying on the ground, a small pail, and a woven basket from which loaves of bread and a bottle of wine poked out.  It was clear this abduction was premeditated.

“Explain yourselves.   _Now_.”

“If we unbind your hands, will you stay and listen?”  Haldir countered, raising a pale brow.

“I am thrice outnumbered, Captain; it does not appear that I have much of a choice, does it?” Celeborn replied archly.  “Now untie me this moment.  I give you my word I will hear you out.  But,” he cautioned with a stern glare that would have turned the blood of lesser Elves to ice, “do not think you are above censure because of your positions as favored Guardians.  You will be punished for this transgression if I deem the situation is not explained to my satisfaction.”

Together the trio nodded.  “We understand, my lord,” Haldir answered, “but first hear us out.  If you find that what we offer does not meet your approval, we will accept our due.”

He waited until Celeborn nodded in acquiescence and then motioned to Rúmil.  The younger Elf untied the lord’s wrists and motioned Celeborn to be seated on the blanket.  The four sat cross-legged in the dappled sunlight while Rúmil broke off hunks of crusty bread and passed them around.  Orophin uncorked the wine and withdrew four glasses, each wrapped carefully in heavy paper, then filled the goblets and handed one to each of his companions.

Celeborn sipped his wine and picked at his bread, waiting for one of them to break the silence.

“Would you believe us if we told you that this was the Lady’s idea?” Haldir said suddenly.

“My  _wife_  came up with this ploy?” Celeborn exclaimed in disbelief.

Orophin lowered his eyes and became suddenly engrossed in studying the weave of the blanket; irrepressible Rúmil flashed a trace of a grin.  Haldir, however, met his gaze directly, unwavering and solemn.  “She did,” he replied.

“For what purpose?”

“She did not think you would come with us willingly, nor agree to our proposition had we approached you within the walls of Caras Galadhon,” Haldir explained, ignoring for the moment the look of utter incredulity that crossed Celeborn’s face.

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you are talking about, Haldir.  What ‘proposition’?  Perhaps you had better start at the beginning.  And pour more wine, Orophin,” he added as an afterthought.  “I believe I shall need it ere we are through.”

Orophin filled his lord’s glass and in a quiet, steady voice began the tale of Galadriel’s visit to the brothers’ talan in the weeks before her sailing.  “She had long feared the day would come when your fates would be sundered, but held fast to the hope that she could persuade you to come with her to the Havens.  But when you refused, when she was faced with the certainty of your choice, she was devastated.”

Celeborn nodded slowly, remembering the ferocious argument that had ensued when he had finally confirmed his wife’s long-time fear that he would forever forsake the Undying Lands.  It was simply beyond Galadriel’s reckoning that her husband would not wish live out his days by her side in the Blessed Realm.

For Galadriel’s part, over four thousand years of bearing a Ring of Power had left her weary and tempered of pride.  Now, receiving the pardon of the Lords of the West for her misdeeds, whether overt or in thought, she had yearned to return to the land of her birth, to see her beloved daughter again and humble herself before the Valar.

But Celeborn was an Elf of Middle-earth, born in Doriath of Telerin folk who had turned aside from the Great Journey before reaching the Great Sea.  He had lived among her trees and rivers his entire life, and the thought of ever leaving her filled him with great sorrow.  He could not deny that the Sea-longing was strong, but the draw of Wood and mountain of the Hither Lands – his home – was far stronger.

In the end, amid bitter tears, they came to a melancholy impasse and realized neither would reconsider.  Rather than spend their remaining time together in acrimony, they focused on remembering the past in a bittersweet reminiscence of the love they had shared, while they slowly drifted apart and bolstered their hearts for the parting that would soon come.

It seemed to Celeborn that in the months before her sailing, Galadriel had been extraordinarily solicitous to his well-being, even more so than was her wont, often pausing in her needlework or from gathering flowers in the gardens below in order to gaze thoughtfully up at him where he sat on a  _flet_ , his mind far away in the land of Elvish dreams.  Occasionally he would feel the weight of her gaze upon him and look down at her questioningly, and she would give him a placid smile, nod secretively to herself, and then resume her business.

When the morning of her departure dawned, they had made love one last time, not through any great desire or passion, but as a commemoration of the bond they once shared, before their parting unto the end of the world.

Rúmil picked up the thread of his brother’s tale.  “Shortly thereafter, we begged leave from her service and asked to remain behind in Middle-earth to serve you and the Wood.”

“I am not yet so doddering that I do not recall that day, Rúmil,” the lord chided mildly.  “I was there at my Lady’s side and granted you permission, else you would not be here right now.  Now, for the love of Tulkas, will you get on with it?”

Rúmil’s face flushed a pale pink, but he chuckled genially.  “Of course, my lord.  I was but setting the stage, if you will… for dramatic effect.”

Celeborn’s lip curled into a smile.  Rúmil really was cheeky, and the rosy blush that suffused his face made him look much younger than his three-thousand-odd years.  One would have to be either blind or made of stone not to find the guardian charming.  Celeborn shook his head at such frivolous thoughts and again looked pointedly at the trio.  “I confess I still do not understand why you would go to such great lengths to lure me from the City.  You have yet to explain this ‘proposition’ you spoke of, and what does my wife have to do with any of this?  Surely there is more to this tale than meets the eye.”

Haldir stepped in, sensing that Celeborn was reaching the point where his patience could be challenged no more.  He crawled directly in front of his lord and plucked the wine glass from his hand.  His brothers joined him and he drew them close, his arms encircling their waists, and leaned over to kiss first Rúmil’s and then Orophin’s cheek.

“I will speak plainly, Celeborn, for there should be no misunderstanding between us, and if my words offend, then I humbly beg your apology.”  Haldir chose his words carefully; a few misspoken words and all their planning would be for naught.

“The Lady does not doubt the love that you bear for her, but she is not blind to your basest desires.  She knows that despite your love and commitment to her and your daughter, it has always been the strength and command of a male’s touch that you have craved.”

Celeborn looked up sharply and his face was stern.  “The proclivities of my bachelorhood are none of your concern, Captain.  Those urges were set aside when I wed, because it was  _her_  and not another I wanted to spend my life with.  You make a mockery of our marriage by implying that I somehow ‘settled’ for her, when my heart and desires led me elsewhere.  I assure you, nothing could be further from the truth.  I loved her, Haldir, and would not have taken her to wife otherwise.”

“Nay, I know that, my friend,” Haldir said quickly, laying a conciliatory hand on Celeborn’s arm, “and I do not mean to imply that what you shared with her was somehow secondhand.  We have served you for years and know that you loved her deeply and wholly.  Please, will you hear us out?”

“If I may inquire,” Orophin interrupted, shooting his brother a sideways glance.  “Are you aware that the relationship among the three of us is, ah, -  _closer_  - than usual among blood kin?”

“I have long suspected that the bond that you share is more than fraternal, yes,” Celeborn concurred, his brow knit in bewilderment at this apparently random shift in the debate.  In fact, he and Galadriel had discussed their suspicions about the trio a number of times over the years, when none of the brothers showed interest in seeking lovers and mates as their contemporaries did, and had reached the same conclusion.

“And does this bother you?” the younger Elf inquired seriously, meeting his lord’s quizzical gaze without flinching.  “Do you find the thought of siblings – who do not share a union of twinship, as your grandsons do – sharing their bodies, their hearts, with one other repugnant?”

“Nay, I do not,” Celeborn replied with a slow shake of his head.  “Love should not be questioned, regardless of its source.  You are blessed to have found it… and kept it.”  His voice trailed off.

Orophin again glanced briefly at his brothers, and Haldir returned his querying look with a small nod of encouragement.

“And now we come to the heart of the matter,” the young Guardian said softly, settling on his knees before the Lord of the Wood.  “Lady Galadriel came to our  _talan_  once more a few days before her departure, but this time at  _our_  invitation.  We arranged for her to visit on a day when you were occupied and would not note her absence.  What we proposed to her was unusual, but once convinced of our sincerity, she agreed and even came up with the means to put our plan into motion.”

“And that proposal would be…” Celeborn prompted, the tone of his voice clearly conveying the fact that he was at the end of his tether.

“To share our love with you, to offer you comfort and companionship, until we fade from the eyes and the memory of Men,” Orophin finished.  He sat back on his heels and waited, his brothers’ arms twined comfortably about his waist.

Celeborn opened his mouth to speak, but no words would come, so he closed his mouth again and simply stared at the trio.  Surely, they could not mean what he thought they meant.

“Aye, that is exactly what my brother means,” Haldir replied to the unasked question, as Celeborn continued to gape at the three of them.  “The look on your face tells me you understood him perfectly well.”

Somewhere high in the trees above the bower, a bird twittered.  At last, Celeborn found his voice.  “I cannot allow you to do this.  Your parents – the Undying Lands – nay, you cannot.”

’Tis no point in trying to change our minds about our decision, Celeborn; you will find it an exercise in futility.  Your lady wife knew of our choice, and if her tears and pleading would not sway us then, neither will anything you can say now.  We will remain here until the end, will you or no.  The only question left is whether you will accept our offer.”

“But… why?”

“Why you, or why we choose to remain?  Our reasoning for the latter question is much the same as yours,” Haldir said thoughtfully.  “We were born here, as you were, and the Wood is who we are, what we have defended our entire lives.  As the world of the Edhil fades, so shall we, ever bound by our love for her, and we shall care for her from beyond the netherworld, if that be our fates, much as we have our entire lives.  The answer to your first question is far simpler.  Because we love you, and because we want to share our love with you… until the end.”

A prickle of tears stung Celeborn’s eyes.  He had long made peace with his decision to forsake his immortal life, and Galadriel had finally come to accept their parting as well – not  _like_  it, but accept it.  He had made the choice to stay and fade, despite his certainty that at the end he would wither away, become a wisp of memory, alone.  But now, at the end, to know these three would give their lives for him… the very thought was awe-inspiring.

Haldir leaned forward to gently tuck a stray wisp of hair behind the lord’s ear, pausing to stroke the calloused pad of his thumb over Celeborn’s face, following the high arch of a cheekbone and down to stroke along the bow of his upper lip.  “That is why we resorted to such behavior and brought you so far from the city, Celeborn.  We have spoken of this to none save you and your lady wife, and what we speak of here is for no one’s witness but ours, unless you wish it.  If you decline, we will leave here and return to Caras Galadhon, and will never speak of it again.”

“But if you do – “ Orophin leaned in, his breath a gentle caress, flavored with sweet wine.  “If you do accept, we would seal our union this very day, in this very spot.  Do you understand what that means, Celeborn?”

Celeborn gulped.  Every rational thought in his mind screamed at him to decline, to force them to take ship and embrace Eru’s gift, to run from the offer so selflessly presented to him.  But he knew that even should he flee, it would change little.  Their minds were made up – they would remain, and fade.  Except that they would have each other… and he would be alone.

The inarguable truth was, as the Silver Lord looked from one brother to another, so very beautiful, so vibrant, so  _alive_  - was that he wanted this – wanted to feel be taken and possessed, wanted to fade away knowing he was loved unconditionally and wholly, and to love freely in return, until the very end.

He nodded.

*~*~*  _to be continued_  *~*~*


	2. Chapter 2

*~*~*~*~*  
  
“You are very beautiful, Celeborn,” Haldir whispered, leaning in to nip gently at an ear, his hands already working at the clasps of the lord’s tunic and slipping it from the broad shoulders.  “It will be no hardship at all to share our bond with you.”    
  
Without waiting for a response from the stunned Elven lord, Rúmil leaned in and kissed him ever so gently, pressing their lips together in a brief but altogether wonderful kiss, and then stood and extended his hands to his brothers, pulling them to their feet as well.    
  
Before Celeborn even had the chance to collect his thoughts, the trio had stripped off their own clothing and now stood gloriously naked and aroused before him, the filtered sunlight casting a silvery sheen on their ivory bodies.  All three were tall and lithe, long of leg, with aquiline noses and gray eyes, and hair so radiant it glowed like molten silver.    
  
He was not so naive that he did not understand that their intention, by so shamelessly baring themselves, was to keep him off guard and not allow him time to reconsider.  Was he not, after all, a skilled diplomat who had often used similar tactics of distraction and redirection in dealing with both foe and ally throughout the years?  
  
As though from outside himself, he watched through a disbelieving, almost disconnected haze as three pairs of hands divested him of the remainder of his own clothing.  It was with a lover’s discerning eye now, rather than as mentor and friend that the differences among them became apparent, and he was slightly abashed to realize that he had never truly _seen_  these subtleties before.    
  
Haldir stood a fraction shorter than his brothers but was most heavily muscled and broadest through the shoulders.  ‘A stallion,’ Celeborn thought as he stepped out of the trousers that had somehow been unlaced and slid over his hips, ‘He is like a stallion, bred for strength and stamina.  Rúmil is an otter – sleek and energetic, mischievous and quick.  And Orophin – he is the slender birch tree, languid and graceful, swayed in the breeze.’  
  
When finally Celeborn stood as nude and as aroused as they, the brothers stood together silently for a long moment, awestruck at the beauty of their lord – the one who would soon be their lover.    
  
He was impressively built, his body having lost none of its mass through the years of ruling from a treetop – he was first, and still remained, a warrior, and bore the same swordsman’s physique he had in Ages past.   His length stood proudly out from his body, long and thick, as magnificent to their eyes as the rest of him.  
  
Haldir was graceful as a panther, sidling toward him until their chests were a hand’s breadth apart.  He raised his hand to touch the lord’s face, his bow-roughened fingertip rasping softly over the curve of Celeborn’s cheek.  “Why do you tremble, my lord?”  
  
“I – I – ”  
  
“Shhh,” Haldir crooned, silencing the Silver Lord with a finger to his lips.  “So very beautiful, and so strong, but so vulnerable… you have nothing to fear from us, Celeborn.  We would never harm you, body or soul.  Please, trust us.”  
  
 _Oh gods, this is really going to happen…can I do this?  Am I ready?  There is no going back after this.  Should –_  
  
His thoughts were silenced, any lingering doubt fading away as Haldir closed the distance between them and drew his face down for a kiss.  The Marchwarden’s lips were soft and warm against his, flavored with berry wine.  A strong tongue slipped between his lips, exploring and seeking, and Celeborn heard himself moan against Haldir’s mouth.  
  
Rúmil’s hands caressed the gentle curve of his backside, his mouth ghosting over a pink nipple, causing it to contract and pucker.  He flicked it with his tongue, and Celeborn gasped and shivered.  
  
“Yes?” The younger Elf’s voice was muffled against his chest; warmth teased the curve of his ear as Orophin drew the tip into his mouth and suckled lightly, sending a bolt of heat straight to his core.  
  
“Oh, yes…”   
  
Orophin’s lips replaced Haldir’s, gently probing, exploring the deepest recesses of his mouth, yet it seemed his touch had some hesitancy, as though he were holding back, fearful of pressing too far or too quickly.  
  
How differently the two kissed.  Haldir’s touch had been firm and insistent, but Orophin’s lips were soft and pliant, so very welcomed and reassuring that Celeborn nearly sobbed from the sudden surge of affection he felt toward these three.  He was not certain he was worthy of such devotion, but vowed with his last lucid thought that he would live out each remaining day of his life doing everything within his power to surpass their expectations.  
  
His head fell back, his eyes closed, his hands clenching in silver locks as soft as the finest of spun silks  – he soon lost track of everything but the sensation of three pairs of hands and three mouths roaming freely over his body, kissing and licking, patting and pinching, then soothing the sting with gentle touches.    
  
Celeborn opened his eyes and looked down as Haldir dropped to his knees, nosing around the sparse silver curls at the base of the lord’s length.  He gave the tip a kittenish lick, gathering the moisture on his tongue.  Orophin joined him, and the two took turns licking up the proud flesh, meeting at the tip to kiss and allow his flavor to mingle through their mouths.  
  
 _Blessed Elbereth, that is the most arousing sight I have ever seen._  
  
He felt Rúmil kneeling behind him, nuzzling the spot just above the curve of his backside, nipping at that tiny dimple that never failed to set his blood to boiling.  He felt strong hands parting his buttocks and a soft warm swipe over the crease.  Without warning, he was speared by a hot, wet tongue, plunging in deep.  He howled and his knees went weak.  
  
“Too – too much,” he gasped, squirming away from probing tongue and wet licks.  He sagged on his feet and Haldir and Orophin caught him as he swayed, lowering him smoothly to the ground before he fell.    
  
“Valar, Rúmil, have you never heard of moderation?” Orophin was heard to mutter as he helped his eldest brother settle their lord on the blanket.  
  
Haldir’s throaty chuckle was unquestionably decadent.  “Moderation is one quality our dear brother is sorely lacking.  Have a care there, Rúmil,” he said, “have some pity on him, hmm?”  
  
Rúmil affected a put-upon look and pouted most beguilingly.  “Spoil sport.”  Turning to Celeborn, he rested his hand on the lord’s shoulder and enquired, “Are you well, my lord?”  
  
“Aye, trouble not, I just need to sit down for a few moments.”  He took a few great shuddering breaths and rested his head on his bent knees, pulling them close to his chest.  
  
Orophin glared at his middle brother; Rúmil flashed a trace of an apologetic smile and shrugged.  Haldir simply shook his head in bemusement with his middle sibling’s oft exasperating impulsive behavior.  There were times throughout the years in which Haldir wondered if his brother had ever truly grown up.  
  
Yet, he wondered, could Rúmil’s impetuous streak now be used to their advantage?  
  
“Now what?” Orophin whispered with a sidelong glance at the still figure seated on the blanket, careful to keep his voice from carrying outside the circle formed by he and his siblings.  “Honestly, Rú, what were you thinking?  The idea was to seduce him, not eat him alive.”  
  
“If we had left it up to you, we would still be sitting in our  _talan_  listening to you analyze the situation to death,” Rúmil hissed back.  
  
“Enough, you two,” Haldir interjected, cutting off his brothers’ squabble before it could escalate further.  “He is overwhelmed and more than a little fearful, and one could not blame him, in truth.  We need to distract him somehow, take his mind off his fear…”  
  
Rúmil thought for a moment, and the smile he gave his brothers was nothing short of predatory.  “I think I know just the thing.”  
  
Sitting with his head bowed, Celeborn did not observe the further wordless exchange the siblings passed among themselves:  a furtive glance in his direction, sensual lips forming a silent question, brows that quirked in surprise, a lingering, speculative look while argent eyes assessed the Silver Lord appraisingly, a nod, a sly smile that was hastily concealed by the time Celeborn again raised his head to look at them.  
  
Rúmil opened his arms to beckon his brothers back to his side, and when they wrapped their arms around him, engaged them in an erotic, open-mouthed, three-way kiss that left Celeborn’s toes curling and his groin tightening painfully.  
  
But as the Silver Lord looked on, watching the groping hands and tangling tongues, Haldir growled and nipped none-to-gently at his middle brother’s bottom lip, the sharp slap of his hand on the tender flesh of Rúmil’s backside punctuating his desire more effectively than mere words.    
  
“Get on your knees, Commander.  I want you.”  
  
Rúmil pulled away, silver-gray eyes dark with lust, but shook his head.  “I think not,  _Captain_.  On the fences you give the orders, but elsewhere, we are equals, and I shall not kneel for you, here or anywhere else.”  
  
Haldir’s laugh could only be described as mocking.  “I am still your commanding officer, as well as your elder, be we in combat or no.  Now get on your knees, little brother, and  _that_  is an order.”  
  
Rúmil pushed his brother roughly on the shoulder.  “We are not out in the field, and I do not take direction from you here ‘Tis high time someone put you in your place,  _big brother_.”  
  
With no warning, he broke away and in the next moment, with a sweep of his foot and a quick twist to Haldir’s arm, Rúmil had knocked his brother’s legs out from under him and laid him out flat on his back.  Haldir went down hard, his breath knocked out of him with a loud ‘whoosh’.  
  
“Oro, quickly, get his hands!” Rúmil barked, taking advantage of Haldir’s momentary confusion in order to withdraw a small flask from the satchel lying within reach.  “Someone needs to be taught a lesson in humility, I believe,” he sneered, lifting his brother’s hips up onto his own thighs, holding them in place with his elbows, then quickly thumbed open the stopper on the vial.  “I will not play your bitch any longer,  _Marchwarden_.”  
  
Haldir found himself on the ground, blinked owlishly up at the canopy of greens and golds overhead, with his middle brother kneeling between his legs, Rúmil’s erection probing between his buttocks, and his arms held firmly over his head, held tight by Orophin’s strong grasp.    
  
 _Blessed Varda, he cannot mean to take him without consent!  What in the name of all that is sacred is going on here?_  
  
Scarcely aware that he had even moved until he was towering above the three, Celeborn was on his feet, ignoring the throbbing in his groin and disregarding the fact that he was completely nude, painfully erect, and – most importantly – outnumbered.  It had been many years since his body had last known battle, but he had been a warrior once and would not sit idly by while Rúmil performed the most dreadful act known to Elven kind.  He would not stand down without a fight, though the brothers were far younger and battle-hardy, and would more than likely tear him to pieces in the process.  
  
“Unhand him this moment!  You have gone too far, Rúmil, you will not take him against his will!”  
  
Rúmil glanced back over his shoulder and stared him directly in the eye, and then to Celeborn’s utter amazement, winked.  
  
“Against his will?  Nay, Celeborn, not against his will, never that.  ‘Tis only a game we play, fear not.  Watch him and you will see that he is most willing.”  
  
Amazingly, Celeborn realized that Haldir was thrusting his hips down toward on brother’s, his thighs splayed apart and baring him in all his glory.  The Marchwarden’s broad shaft was curved up tight against his belly, leaking clear fluids that were slowly forming a glistening pool in his navel.  
  
Clenching his eyes tightly at the touch of his own hand upon his rigid length, Rúmil slicked his shaft well then opened his eyes and lined himself up at his brother’s waiting entrance.  “You can see from his rather  _responsive_  state that it is the excitement of being controlled that arouses him so.  It was quite by accident that we discovered one night that our dear brother quite enjoyed a bit of rough treatment.  He works too hard, poor thing, and sometimes just needs to let go.  Just watch, and you will see something incredible.”   
  
A flicker of understanding crossed Celeborn’s face and he dropped back on the blanket with a heavy thud.  This ‘forcing’ of Haldir was a charade that the siblings had staged, and it should have been obvious before, now that he thought about it, that their actions were just a bit too well rehearsed to be entirely believable.  From the practiced manner in which the trio moved together, they had engaged in this game, or another one similar, many times before.  They played their parts well.  One or the other of them – Celeborn had a strong suspicion he knew who the instigator of this ruse was – had contrived this performance  to distract him from his fears.  And their efforts were successful; he could not have resisted, even if he had the desire.    
  
Rúmil slowly and steadily pressed forward into the moist, welcoming heat of his lover’s passage.  There was no need to stretch and prepare his brother; Haldir was well used to such attentions and groaned throatily when Rúmil’s hard shaft sank deep into his body.    
  
The transformation that came over Haldir with those first few thrusts was almost beyond Celeborn’s belief.  None would never have guessed the Captain of the Lórien guard – fearless in battle, slayer of Orcs and Wildmen uncounted – would play the bottom, and so readily at that, if they had not seen his eager surrender with their own eyes.  Nowhere was there a trace of the controlled, proud Marchwarden who guarded the Wood so dutifully, always in complete command of himself and his men.  This Elf was brazen and shameless in his lust, moaning and whimpering, crying out and begging to be ridden harder, deeper, faster.    
  
Haldir groaned, turning his head to press his cheek into Orophin’s belly.  The younger Elf sought no relief for his own arousal, but gripped Haldir’s hands firmly with his own, keeping them trapped over his head, ensuring his eldest brother was pinned almost motionless and helpless to do more than writhe in Rúmil’s lap.    
  
In long, lazy thrusts, Rúmil pumped in and out of Haldir’s body, slowly stroking his brother’s erection with one hand and the other curved around the swell of his brother’s hipbone, pressing him into place.  Haldir moaned and thrashed his head, sweating and shaking, while Orophin held his hands tightly and whispered words intended to be soothing, but clearly did the opposite and only ignited Haldir’s passion further.  
  
“Do you see now, Celeborn?  Is he not beautiful in his surrender?” Rúmil said, speaking to Celeborn but keeping his eyes trained on his elder brother’s face.  “One would never imagine Haldir, famed Captain of the Wood, would submit, and so wantonly at that.  He loves it, Celeborn; he hungers for it.  How well he plays the part of the whore.  He begs me to fuck him, and when I am through, he still wants more.  Is that true, brother?”  
  
He thrust once, hard, and Haldir barked, “ _Yes_!”  
  
  
“He is ready, Celeborn.  You should feel how tight and hot he is, how he trembles and strains around me.  He is always tight, no matter how often I make love to him.   Do you want him, Celeborn?  To ride him until he screams?  To plunge into his body over and over and take him over the edge with you?”  
  
Celeborn’s mouth went dry.  His eyes were riveted to the stretched skin where Rúmil’s shaft plunged in and out of Haldir’s clenching passage.  He licked his lips and managed to croak, “Aye,” around a tongue that seemed two sizes too large for his mouth.  
  
“Haldir?  Do you want him?  He is larger than I – do you think you can take him?”  Rúmil swiveled his hips, reaming Haldir from top to bottom and sideways.  The Marchwarden groaned.    
  
“What was that, dear brother?” Rúmil thrust again, angling to brush his brother’s sweet spot.  
  
“FUCK!” Haldir yelped and tossed his head, straining against the strong grip that restrained him.  “Yes, damn you, I want him!”  
  
“Then you shall have him, brother, as soon as I am finished with you,” Rúmil ground out between clenched teeth.  His thrusting became more rapid and more erratic as his orgasm approached, and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut as sparkles flared behind his eyelids.  
  
“Oh gods, yes,  _yesss_ ,” Haldir moaned, clenching his muscles around the pulsing shaft.    
  
At length Rúmil shuddered and groaned deeply, his entire body straining when he spurted in scalding bursts into his brother’s body.  A moment later he pulled out, still gasping and dribbling threads of milky fluid, and Haldir howled in protest, thrusting his hips up and down in frustration, lashing out with his legs to pull his brother back toward him.  
  
Rúmil turned to meet Celeborn’s lust-darkened gaze and nodded, motioning toward Haldir’s parted thighs, the writhing and whimpering Elf thrashing in Orophin’s grasp.  “He wants you, Celeborn.  Do not leave him wanting.”  
  
The Silver Lord was on his feet and already settling in to take the younger Elf’s place between Haldir’s trembling thighs, yet despite what he had witnessed, despite the fact that his own arousal had reached almost desperate proportions, he was still wary of causing the Marchwarden harm.  His own shaft primed for entry, he leaned in bringing their faces close, and forced Haldir to meet his eyes.  
  
“Is this what you want, Haldir?  Do you truly want me, or is this just another part of the game?  I need to know, right now.”  
  
“Ai… Celeborn…  Please…  _please_ …”  
  
Celeborn’s eyes flitted around the bower, searching for the elusive vial of oil, but Rúmil shook his head, gasping, “Not needed – just do it.”  
  
With one great thrust, Celeborn had breached the entrance and was embedded to the root in the clinging heat of Haldir’s channel.  
  
Though oil and Rúmil’s seed eased the way and he was already loosened from his brother’s loving, Haldir was not quite anticipating the extent of Celeborn’s length or girth, for he was considerably larger than Haldir’s other lovers. Though Celeborn would not have believed it at the moment, given the zeal of the Marchwarden’s response, the truth of the matter was that in all his three and a half millennia, Rúmil and Orophin had been Haldir’s only lovers, and he theirs.    
  
Haldir's face contorted and he shrieked, nearly wrenched out of Orophin’s grasp, but Orophin was far stronger than his willowy build indicated and was well acquainted with the grip necessary to deliver his eldest brother vulnerable and at their mercy.  
  
Troubled, Celeborn did not move, though his body urged him to, but looked up and met Orophin’s eyes with concern.  The younger Elf nodded, his clear gray gaze untroubled.  “He likes to be used roughly, Celeborn.  You will not harm him, I promise you.  Listen to his moans – already his body accepts you.”  
  
Celeborn did not bother with any of Rúmil’s finesse but being large and strong, bodily lifted the Marchwarden’s hips off the ground and settled the Elf on his lap, giving Haldir little choice but to wrap his legs around the lord’s flank and hold on.  He wrapped one large hand around Haldir’s twitching, neglected length and stroked speedily and long, matching each glide of his hand with the slide of his shaft deep within his lover’s body.  
  
“Oh gods, so good,” Haldir cried out, surging up into the seed-slicked grasp and back down onto the invading shaft.  With barely a dozen strokes he convulsed as far as his straining body would allow and screamed, “Ai, yes…oh, OH… _coming_!”  He climaxed torturously, spraying great jets of pearlescent fluid across their bellies.  
  
Milked by the Marchwarden’s rippling passage, Celeborn climaxed harder than he had remembered doing in years, his essence spurting in great, creamy gouts to join Rúmil’s within Haldir’s slick channel.  
  
Panting, he fell forward onto the prone, shivering form to rest his sweating brow against Haldir’s shoulder.  “Blessed Elbereth,” he cursed between wheezing breaths, “that was  _amazing_.  If every time is like this, I shall not live long enough to worry about eternity.”  
  
From somewhere off to his right, a throaty chuckle resonated from Rúmil, who had recovered and now lay on his side cleansing himself, languidly swiping a soapy cloth from the bucket over his groin.  “He does tend to have that effect on one, my friend.”   
  
Orophin released his brother’s hands and bent over to smooth the clinging strands of hair from Haldir’s forehead.  He pressed a gentle kiss to the clammy brow and Haldir blinked up at him with unfocused eyes.  “Love you, ‘Dir.  Are you all right?”  
  
It took a moment for Haldir to come back to his senses.  Finally he replied in a tremulous voice, “A bit sore – “ he winced when Celeborn withdrew from his body and grimaced at the slow trickle of fluids that seeped from his backside.  “Oh.  _Ouch_.  Perhaps more than ‘a bit sore’,” he amended, “but I am well, Oro.”  
  
Haldir raised trembling arms and wrapped them around the Elf-lord who had just given him so precious a gift.  Their coupling had been more than just sex to Haldir; he was a sensuous being underneath that usually unflappable exterior, but he had never given his body or his heart lightly.  The fact that Celeborn was only the third, after his adored brothers, to know him in such a manner spoke of the strength and veracity of his affections.  
  
Groaning, Celeborn rolled off and lay beside Haldir.  “By Manwë’s golden crown, I am too old for this,” the Elf-lord moaned.    
  
Haldir chuckled weakly, turning his head to kiss the pulse fluttering in his lover’s neck.  Orophin rose from his perch and stretched out along Celeborn’s opposite side.  His arousal had not abated, and he pressed his hips against the lord’s thigh, rocking gently back and forth.    
  
Rúmil brought over two wet, warm cloths, and used one to gently swab first Haldir’s stomach and then his brother’s tender backside.  Haldir hissed when the cloth brushed his abused opening.  When he deemed his brother to be clean enough, Rúmil tossed the cloth back in the direction of the bucket and curled up in Haldir’s arms, lazily fingering the silver strands of hair that spilled across the Marchwarden’s broad chest.  Haldir sighed contentedly.  “Love you, ‘mil,” he whispered.  
  
“I know,” Rúmil answered with a sanguine smile.  “I love you too.”  He kissed Haldir’s nose and rested his cheek against his brother’s shoulder.  A mild breeze rustled the branches and dried the sweat from their bodies.    
  
*~*~*  _to be continued_  *~*~*


	3. Chapter 3

*~*~*~*~*  
  
As the day waned, the bower was awash with a watery golden light.  Late-afternoon sunlight filtered through the  _mellryn_ above, casting a chaotic pattern of stripes over Celeborn’s pale chest and sculpted cheekbones.    
  
He lay in a lethargic haze beside Haldir, gooseflesh rising on his skin as Orophin gently wiped his stomach and between his thighs free of sweat and semen.  Though his body was sated, his eyes limpid and limbs heavy with exhaustion, his emotions were a riotous jumble of half-formed thoughts, colored with a hint of embarrassment.  There were so many things he wanted to ask, needed to say, but the words would not come.  All that came out when he finally opened his mouth was a rusty croak, a single word.  
  
“Why?”  
  
“The question of the Ages, and Celeborn the Wise presumes that a lowly guardian would know the answer, when he himself does not!”  Orophin’s laugh was as clear and pure as a bell, completely without guile or malice, and Celeborn felt the disorder in his mind trickle away as the sound washed over him like a warm spring rain.  
  
“Why, the answer is no more complicated than this:  It is a part of who we are, Celeborn, though not  _all_  of it.  ‘Tis not always this way, rough and feral.  Nay, there is tenderness, too, and love.   _Always_  love.”  
  
He scattered a few gentle kisses along the Lord’s strong jaw line.  “And now, my lover, it would please me greatly to make love to you, if you are willing.  Closing the circle between my brothers and you will seal our oath.  Do not be afraid, I will be very gentle and promise you will feel only minimal discomfort.”  
  
A glassy, oily stab of anxiety roiled in his guts, and for a moment, Celeborn was filled with doubt.  Now that the time had come, as he had known it would, the truth was that he was afraid.  But the brothers had given him hope for his remaining days in Middle-earth, had shared their love with him.  He could not refuse, nor, did he truly desire to, despite the churning in his belly, the tremor in his hands.  He wanted to be cherished and loved, safe in the knowledge that these three would never leave him, and set free the desires he had kept safely under tight reign for many years.  
  
The Silver Lord breathed deeply, once, twice, and finally nodded.  “Aye, but slowly, my friend.”  
  
Orophin smiled down at him, a trace of humor lightening his gray eyes and breaking the tension that had arisen.  “Aye, slowly; so slowly that you will weep from the blissful prolonging of your pleasure.”  
  
Dipping his head, he pressed his lips to Celeborn’s, not in a kiss, but to trace the outline of the Lord’s mouth with his own with agonizing, blissful slowness.   “When I was a youngling just learning the ways of love, I fantasized about one day kissing you like this,” Orophin murmured, insistently nipping at the swollen lips until Celeborn parted his mouth, allowing his tongue to slip inside.  “’Tis a dream come to life, and I will cherish this moment for all the rest of our days.”  
  
When Orophin finally drew away and looked down at him with a gaze that was lust-darkened and glittering, Celeborn was breathless, his own eyes glazed and unfocused.   “Your kisses are sweeter than honeyed mead,” he sighed.  
  
Orophin cracked a lazy, lopsided grin.  “I could say much the same of you, but there is much more of you to be tasted before I decide.”  
  
Dipping his head again, he kissed the fluttering pulse in Celeborn’s neck, with his tongue following the regal arch of his lover’s neck, down to the tiny dip above his breastbone, and traced a damp trail along the collarbone.  Opening his mouth wide, he closed around the tender flesh and suckled and nipped until it bloomed crimson, ignoring the Silver Lord’s whimpers as his sensitive skin was pulled and tugged cruelly.  
  
“Ours.   _Mine_ ,” he whispered, surveying his handiwork with a critical eye.  
  
Methodically, one succulent inch of muscled ivory flesh at a time, from head to toe, Orophin set about working his lover into a frenzy.  He flicked and kneaded one nipple into a tight bud while his mouth teased the other into a stiff pink peak, his own shaft pressed snug against Celeborn’s body, weeping freely and coating his lover’s thigh with a glaze of his seed.  Reaching down between their bodies and gathering a few slick drops on his fingertips, he drew one slippery finger up over Celeborn’s rapidly filling shaft.  While he was not quite recovered enough to become fully erect, even at half-mast, the Lord was formidable.  
  
Orophin circled the firm, warm flesh with his hands and pumped lightly, long and lazy strokes that soon had Celeborn at complete attention and thrusting up and into his lover’s hand.  
  
“Your hands are skilled at more than drawing a bow, my young friend.”  
  
“Aye,” Orophin murmured agreeably, lapping softly at a peaked nipple with the flat of his tongue, his hand never ceasing its steady motion.  “And you were well named, my lord.   _Silver Tree_ , indeed,” he replied against his breast, watching from under lowered lashes as the shaft lengthened and swelled before his approving – and impressed – gaze.  “'Tis the mightiest tree in the Wood.”  
  
Celeborn let his head fall back against the soft blanket, relishing the warm, firm stroke of the hand upon his flesh.  It felt good… so good.  Orophin’s strong archer’s hands stroked firmly, agonizingly slowly, from base to tip, then circling around the fleshy head, while his skilled tongue lapped and suckled first one hardened nub and then the other.  
  
An indistinct sound was like cold dash of water in the face, wrenching Celeborn from the chaotic mantle of pleasure Orophin had woven around him, and sending him crashing back to himself and the profusion of greens and golds of the bower.  For a moment, he was confused; he had nearly succeeded in forgetting that he and his lover were not alone.  
  
It was not until he turned his head inquiringly toward the mysterious sound that he recognized it for what it was – a low, breathy moan.  Haldir lay full-length over his brother’s body, resting on his elbows, their fingers woven together over Rúmil’s head.    
  
The kiss they shared was, as far as kisses went, not especially erotic; yet it was deeply intimate, for the nuances of the way they touched spoke of a great love between them.  Hands clasped, Rúmil’s thumb brushed the knuckles of his brother’s hand, Haldir’s toes curled and caressed the arch of Rúmil’s slender foot, Rúmil’s pale neck curved gracefully to receive his brother’s kiss, the synchronicity of their breathing.  
  
Following his lover’s preoccupied gaze, Orophin watched his siblings for a moment, a smile on his face, though it seemed that his smile was a bit wistful.  
  
“They are beautiful together, are they not?  You may watch them if you wish; certainly, they would not begrudge you that after.  They love me, I know, but my brothers have always experienced an extraordinary closeness, one that has not quite included me.  Perhaps ere I was born, their bond had already been firmly established, or mayhap they could sense that my heart would someday be divided, I do not know.”  
  
He turned back to his lover and kissed him softly.  “’Tis no matter, really; I know they love me, and I them.”  Gently he turned Celeborn’s face back to meet his eyes. “Now my need is great, and I can wait no longer.”    
  
Celeborn’s stomach did another slow, sickening flip as he was gently urged to his hands and knees.  His lover’s hands were warm and reassuring, stroking his back, gently spreading his buttocks, baring him to Orophin’s eyes.  He distracted himself from the churning in his guts by watching the lovers beside him, the slow grinding of hips and the kissed and caresses that were becoming ever more demanding by the moment.  
  
Something warm and wet and velvety soft slicked over his most private of places, and he shivered.  Oiled hands traced lightly over his buttocks and around his hip, stopping to tease the hollow of a hipbone, and then followed the smooth curve of flat stomach.  Warm, callused fingers gently cupped his sac and tested the weight of the heavy orbs within.  
  
The hand left his sac and ghosted across a trembling thigh.  Strong fingers curled around his aching length and did not grasp, as he expected, but simply skimmed lightly up and down over the shaft, pausing at the end to brush the sticky-wet fluids around the tip, while strong, slippery fingers carefully spread him open.  
  
 _How can hands that have known war and death yet be so gentle?_  Celeborn marveled.  He had witnessed the younger Elf in combat once before.  The ruthless assassin who had single handedly beheaded three  _Yrch_  in a solitary strike bore only a passing resemblance to the gentle Elf with him now.    
  
Celeborn breathed deeply and slowly when a finger slid into him, fighting the instinct of his body to pull away from the intrusion.  It had been a very, very long while since he had been touched in such a manner, and it burned.  The few occasions in the past in which he indulged in self-pleasure of this sort had left him feeling unsatisfied and vaguely lonely.  It was not  _shame_  so much as a feeling of disloyalty to Galadriel to imagine it was a lover’s touch delving deep within his body, when in all other aspects of bedplay, his wife had been a keen and adventurous partner.  There were some things she simply would not consent to do, and so he subdued those desires.  
  
Add now here he was, long silver hair pooled on the blanket, his head resting on clasped hands, his rear in the air, while a young Galadhel stroked him from within – and he wanted it, he craved it, without shame, and without loneliness.  
  
His body remembered even after all those years, and he loosened with little difficulty to accept the added mass as a second finger joined the first, widening and stretching, oiling and massaging the strong muscle until it was pliant and willing, until he was panting and squirming.  
  
He winced as Orophin repositioned, and bucked back when those long, archer’s fingers expertly curled to stroke the firm bunch inside.  
  
“Aaah, oh  _gods_ , do it again,” he yelped, and Orophin did.  
  
He had forgotten how wonderfully perfect the heat and fullness was, and the tingle when the gland was rubbed just in a certain way – the way Orophin was touching him right now.    
  
“May I?” Orophin’s voice was uneven, the extent of his need unmistakable in his raspy tone.  
  
“Oh yes,” Celeborn answered, his own voice a breathy sigh that wrapped around Orophin like a lover’s touch.  
  
Warm liquid spilled along his cleft, running in a slick trickle over his sac and down his length.  The feeling was maddening – it tickled, and drew his attention to the throbbing in his loins, the clenching of his backside.  
  
Firm flesh nudged at his entrance and then there was pressure, so much pressure, and then Orophin was pressing inside, breaching him.  It hurt,  _oh Valar it hurt_ , he was being split in two; what madness possessed him to think this was a good idea?  He keened, a pathetic wretched sound that he choked back as soon as he realized he had uttered it.    
  
But Orophin heard his lover’s distress and shushed him.  “Easy, lover, ‘tis the best way.  Only a moment more and I will be there.”  
  
No pleasure comes without a measure of pain, and he gritted his teeth and fought the rising of his gorge while Orophin ever-so-slowly pressed forward, until his hipbones cradled Celeborn’s buttocks.  
  
Each heartbeat was a dull, hot pulsing where he was parted.  Celeborn rested his head on his hands, his breathing shrill and ragged, while Orophin held himself in check, running warm, soothing hands over his body and whispering soft words of love and praise.  
  
“Oh gods, you feel so good around me, Celeborn, as though you were made for me.  “Tis such a gift that you would allow me to be your first after so long.  Making love to you is like a dream come to life.  Open yourself; feel my thoughts and see into my heart, melethron.”  
  
Orophin’s heartspoken words assuaged the burning sensation, fading to a warm, agreeable fullness.  A tentative brush against his thoughts calmed him, and he opened his mind to the Orophin's thoughts.  He saw himself as his people saw him, as steady as the mountains, a man whose every action was selfless and driven out of love for his people.      
  
He saw himself as Orophin saw him, flushed and panting, and achingly beautiful.  
  
As the burn faded and pleasure welled in his belly, Orophin made love to him unhurriedly, his aim true and angled to wring sharp cries of pleasure from Celeborn's lips.  
  
*~*~*~*~*  
  
“Haldir, look.”  
  
Rúmil’s breath was a silken caress against his ear.  Haldir paused in the middle of a long, slow thrust into his brother’s body.  “You broke my concentration,” he grumbled.  
  
“’Dir,  _look_ ,” Rúmil insisted, twisting his head away from the lazy wet sweeps where his brother’s tongue had been slowly exploring the curve of his jaw.  “Look at them.”  
  
Celeborn rested on his knees, his head bowed and resting on his clasped hands, his eyes tightly shut.  Orophin arched over his lover’s back, rocking ever so slowly, his hands smoothing the curves of Celeborn’s shoulders.  His face clearly showed the extent of his restraint; his siblings recognized the look of concentration and knew that Orophin was close to orgasm but was holding back for his lover’s sake.  Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but Rúmil thought there was a tear glistening on the Silver Lord’s cheek.  
  
“Have you ever seen such beauty?” Rúmil asked reverently.  
  
“I have,” Haldir replied, silencing his brother with a kiss, and resumed the deliberate motions deep within his lover’s body.  “And I am making love to him right now.”  
  
*~*~*~*~*  
  
Celeborn felt himself gently but insistently raised and lifted onto his lover’s lap, his thighs spread wide, straddling Orophin’s hips, the reassuring strength of Orophin’s chest pressed to his back.  A heartrending moan escaped his mouth as Orophin’s length settled more deeply within him, until he thought he would be cleaved in half.  A warm hand closed around his aching shaft; he looked down to see Rúmil’s eyes looking up at him, long legs wrapped around Haldir’s lean hips.  
  
“Is it too much, lover?”  Orophin’s voice was ragged.  He ached for release, was trembling with the need for climax, but would stop immediately, no matter the cost to himself, if it was what Celeborn desired.  After so long, the act of being taken was surely to be uncomfortable, and he would not cause his lover any more discomfort than necessary.  Later he would find the inside of his cheek raw and bloody from biting it to keep himself from spending.  
  
But a low growl provided the reassurance Orophin needed that all was well.  Rather much more than  _well_ , from his own point of view; as most marvelously perfect as it was possible for things to be, in fact.  He could not imagine anything that could be any more  _well_  than where he was at that moment – in a balmy, wooded hideaway, making love to the Elf he had idolized ever since he could remember.  
  
“Ride me, then.  You are in control; take your pleasure as you will.”  
  
Orophin allowed his lover to control the speed and intensity of their lovemaking, though with each clenching of Celeborn’s muscles, it threatened to milk his orgasm from him.  It took every fiber of his will to keep from thrusting ever harder up into Celeborn’s clinging heat; he distracted himself from the ever-spiraling coiling of tension in his belly by allowing his hands to stray across the Silver Lord’s stomach, up his broad chest, seeking a peaked nipple.  He pulled and tweaked, never harshly, but enough to stir Celeborn’s lust further and draw ragged moans from his lips.  Celeborn’s fingers gripped tightly on his thighs, and he knew he would bear the marks upon his flesh for many days.  
  
The trees whirled overhead in a swirling vortex of earthy colors, narrowing until nothing else existed but pleasure so excruciating that it was almost pain.  The blood of desire running hot in his veins, Celeborn moved more quickly, raising himself further aided by hands and strong thighs, and back down with more force, until at the apex of each surge, he was dropping back into Orophin’s lap with his full weight.  His own heartbeat was like thunder, drowning out all sound but for the roaring of his own pulse in his ears.  He was aware of nothing but the heady shroud of bliss that Orophin had woven around them:  not the ragged panting of his own breath, nor the animalistic grunts of his lover’s voice in his ear.  He did not hear two shouts of completion from beside him, one after the other, nor did he feel the hand that had been stroking his arousal still and tighten upon his flesh as Rúmil reached orgasm.  Celeborn howled, a primal, raw cry emanating from deep in his chest, and climaxed powerfully in thick, milky ribbons of white.  
  
The strain of maintaining a state of sustained arousal for so long was too much for Orophin to bear.  It was only through strength of will alone that he had held on this long, and he finally broke, uttering a long moan as he lunged up into the gripping heat of his lover’s body.  As he reached the pinnacle and hurtled over the edge into rapture, a great shudder wracked his body.  Copper and warmth filled his mouth, a not entirely unpleasant taste, as his teeth broke through the skin of Celeborn’s shoulder and drew blood.  He bucked one more and strained deeply as he could, filling his lover with seed.  
  
Long moments had passed before Celeborn became aware that he was lying on the blanket, enfolded in comforting arms, three pairs of gray eyes watching him, sloe-eyed and satiated.  A hand touched his hair, stroking the tangled mass, soothing nonsense whispered in his ear.  It was only when he felt wetness on his cheeks that he realized he was sobbing quietly.  He wiped the dampness away quickly, embarrassed.  
  
“How do you feel, lovely one?”  Rúmil’s hand was cool and soothing on his sweating face, smoothing the lank strands of hair back, tucking a stray tendril behind his ear.  
  
“I feel…” Celeborn was quiet for a moment, searching and introspective.  “Good.  At peace.   _Loved_.”  
  
“And in the end, that is all that matters, hmm?”   
  
They dozed in the thready, waning sunlight, wrapped in the blanket they had made love upon, until full night had fallen, and then returned to Caras Galadhon, walking slowly and planning for the future.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
In a quiet bedroom in the nearly uninhabited sanctuary of Imladris, in the Fourth Age of the Shire Reckoning, Celeborn again set quill to the creamy parchment spread on the desk in front of him, and once again sighed.  In a few days’ time, Círdan would set sail, bearing the last of the Elves of Middle-earth to the Undying Lands.  Celeborn’s final farewell to his wife would be written on the page before him, but he found himself once again at a loss.  What words were there to express all the things he wanted to tell her?  
  
The unusual union that had begun on a warm spring day in the shade of a wooded bower had evolved into an unforeseen outcome, and something far different than any of the four had expected.  He had come to love Haldir and Rúmil deeply, but it was the youngest of the siblings to whom Celeborn found himself most drawn.  Galadriel may have been his mate, his soul, but it was Orophin who had become his heart.  
  
He leaned back in his chair and looked around the room he had called home for nearly a century.  Eventually his gaze returned to the rumpled coverings of the bed in the corner, and its sole occupant, sprawled on his back and deep in the sleep of the well and truly sated, the sheets a tangled mess around his slender hips.  Crimson ovals dotted the graceful arch of his neck, marks of passion peeking through the muss of moonlight hair spilling across his chest.  
  
The scene brought a small smile to Celeborn’s lips.  Leaning forward over the pristine page once more, he again loaded his quill, carefully inking runes that formed his name, and then added two simple words.  
  
 _Thank you_.  
  
~*~*~ finis ~*~*~


End file.
